


Picking Poppies

by inkystars



Category: Glee
Genre: Multi, Pushing Daisies Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkystars/pseuds/inkystars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At twenty-one years, thirty-one weeks, six days, and two hours old, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was murdered. Directly after, he began a courtship with his childhood sweetheart, a pie-maker named Blaine. Pushing Daisies AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in the town of Lima Ohio, there lived a boy named Blaine Anderson.

He was a loving and charismatic young lad, always eager to help those around him and quick to comfort the needing with a warm embrace. 

At eight years, twenty-seven weeks, four days and ten hours old, Blaine Anderson met one Kurt Hummel.

Kurt was different from the other children at Lima Elementary. It wasn’t a difference that one could put their finger on, so the other children just chalked it up to his occasionally odd clothes and high-pitched voice and penchant for tea parties with elaborate menus. 

When Blaine looked at Kurt, however, he saw a smattering of cinnamon freckles and a lovely chipped tea cup from his lunch and a smart blue hat similar to the ones the Von Trapps wore in The Sound of Music perched jauntily on his neat brown hair and large blue eyes that caused a loud pounding in Blaine’s ears and in that moment there was nothing that he had ever seen in his eight years, twenty-seven weeks, four days and ten hours that was as imperfectly perfect as Kurt Hummel.

So young Blaine Anderson straightened his saffron bow tie and assumed a smile, sitting next to Kurt during lunch.

The facts were these: Kurt Hummel was eight years, eleven weeks, six days and twenty hours old. He had a dear love of sweets, singing, clothes, and his mother’s romantic movie collection. And the day that he met Blaine Anderson was the first time he’d returned to school in almost over a week, due to the death of his mother.

His mother had always been the one to smooth back his hair and kiss him good night and sweep him into a hug when he was feeling blue and now he’d lost her. His father had tried to compensate in the past week, but he was not a very tactile man and his shoulder-pats did little to consoleyoung Kurt.

And so, as he sat alone at his little table, arranging the small cookies and little cup of tea as he ate lunch, mourning the confections because they were the last of the batch that his mother made before she died, he was very surprised when Blaine Anderson slid into the seat next to him with a wide smile and a smart green metal lunchbox.

“Good morning!” chirped Blaine cheerfully as he unpacked his lunch. “My name’s Blaine. What’s yours?”

Kurt looked up at the sweet little boy sitting next to him and felt a smile creep onto his face. “I’m Kurt.”

And with that, an instant friendship was struck. But it was what Blaine said two minutes and forty-three seconds later that changed everything.

Blaine held up a small little triangular container. “Would you like some of my pie?”

And over that slice of pomegranate key lime pie that Blaine’s mother had made early that morning, the two young boys fell deeply in love. It was the sort of love that most adults just chalk up to kids being young **,** but in fact it was a deep love, and everlasting love, one that would overcome all obstacles.

***

The two boys grew up together, excitedly learning that they lived on the same street. Kurt and Blaine were inseparable, often seen having tea parties in Kurt’s front yard, pies replacing the cookies that Kurt’s mother had priorly made for him. Or walking together in school, too absorbed with one another as they walked the halls hand in hand to even register the occasional glares of their classmates, let alone soak them in.

Blaine was very tactile. He loved touching everybody as a means of expression and to show his emotions.

Kurt was the opposite. He learned that touching others often got him in trouble, yet he craved touch like none other ever since his mother had passed and it didn’t help that the other children would often keep a two foot barrier from his person.

But Blaine remedied everything, his fingers rarely not on Kurt’s hand or arm or somewhere on his person, pulling him to a new destination with an excited smile.

The children were happy as they began to grow up.

Until the day.

***

Blaine Anderson was fourteen years, four weeks, two days, and seven hours old when he realized his gift.

A little yellow canary had flown into his window and collapsed on the ground. Blaine had picked it up and called for his mother, but she was out at the grocery store. So he set the bird on his pillow and wrapped his arms around himself as he watched the little creature die, doing his best to hold back tears. 

As the last vestiges of life passed from the canary, he leaned forward and gave itshead one last final stroke of affection.

Instantly, the bird warmed under his finger and popped up on the bed, chirping happily. Blaine watched in amazement as the bird flew around his room before landing on a high shelf.

He stared down at his finger. He was a smart boy and he knew that the bird had been undoubtedlydead,and he knew that he’d brought it back to life.

Blaine felt a warm fuzzy feeling fill him as he realized the gift that had been bestowed upon him, not yet realizing the hardships it would bring.

***

Two days and four hours later, Blaine found himself in the kitchen with his mother, who he was helping bake a pie. 

It was a sudden and abrupt thing. She gasped suddenly, going rigid before falling to the ground, dead due to an aneurysm. 

Blaine stared at his dead mother on the ground before leaning over her and giving her a small tap on the forehead.

Instantly her eyes flew open. “Blaine? What am I doing on the ground?”

“I…” Blaine looked around, searching for a word.

She stood, brushing herself off. “I must have fainted. Never mind.”

He smiled at his mother and went back to slicing peaches, unaware as the clock ticked to a minute after his mother had been resurrected of the tragedy he’d just inadvertently caused. 

Six minutes later, there was a frantic knocking at the door. Kurt Hummel stood on the porch crying. His father had just died very suddenly.

For that was the curse of young Blaine’s extraordinary gift. He could bring the dead back to life, but if they stayed alive for longer than a minute, someone else had to die in their place.

But it wasn’t until later that night, after Kurt had been settled into the guest room across the hall from Blaine’s, that the terrible nature of the gift was revealed.

Blaine had wished Kurt a good night even though he knew that he couldn’t have one before tucking himself into his own bed. His mother had come in to wish him sweet dreams and had leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

She fell to the ground dead.

If Blaine Anderson touched a dead thing once, he brought it back to life. Touch that same thing a second time, then it died again.

Permanently. 

Kurt was still awake when Blaine quietly knocked on his door, tears welling in his eyes. The two boys curled up tightly in bed that night, holding each other as tightly as possible, one crying for the loss that they’d both faced, the other crying because he knew that everything had been his fault.

***

At his mother’s funeral four days and twelve hours later, Blaine Anderson stared down at the casket with a sense that his life had irrevocably shifted onto a different track.

His father didn’t touch him once during the funeral and it stung deeply in his heart. He’d been informed the night prior that he in fact would not be attending McKinley High School the coming week, but would be transferredto Dalton Academy, an hour away in Westerville.

Feeling a Kurt-shaped hole aching in his chest, he turned and looked at the funeral going on twenty feet away.

Kurt was clutching his arms tightly as he gazed down into his father’s grave, face devastated with grief. 

Blaine walked from his group and Kurt looked up and started walking from his. They met in the middle and there, in a graveyard, the two boys who were so filled with sorrow, despair, foreboding, and hormones leaned in together for a simple sweet kiss.

And then the boys each told a truth and a lie apiece.

“I love you,” Blaine whispered.

That was the truth.

“And I’m so sorry. If there was anything I could do, I would.”

That was the lie. There was something he could do, but he was too terrified of the consequences. 

Kurt smiled sadly. “I love you too.”

That was the truth. 

“Until my dying day.”

That was the lie. He would love Blaine long past that.

***

Seven years, forty-four weeks, five days, and eight hours later, was a time period that is often more commonly referred to as “Now”.

The young Blaine is a man now, working at a bakery he owns in New York City called Filling The Gap, and he himself by extension is now called the Pie-Maker. Carrying on his mother’s tradition, he makes and sells glorious pies for the pavement-weary civilian to stop by and fill their bellies with a slice. 

His secret? The achingly fresh fruit he uses, courtesyof his gift. Touching the fruit that he lets rot back in his cellar allows it to restore itsfull flavors and vitality—but only if he touches it once. 

Yes, as the Pie-Maker, Blaine Anderson has thrived. 

But that does not mean that late at night his thoughts do not return to a young boy with large marble eyes and a smattering of freckles.

Every night he allowed thoughts of Kurt to consume his head before dozing off into oblivion to the quiet chirps of his caged canary Pavarotti  whom he’d saved all those years ago. The familiar scent of chamomile tea and sweet clover honey would fill his nostrils and he’d be at peace.

***

Though he was the Pie-Maker most of the time, Blaine had a very lucrative side-job with one Noah Puckerman—more commonly referred to as merely Puck—who had a great and passionate love for all things leading to money and Blaine’s cinna-peach pie. He would solve murders, collect his reward, then promptly spend three dollars and forty-eight cents of it at Filling The Gap on a slice of pie a la mode.

He was the sole keeper of Blaine’s terrible secret: One day he’d been tracking a culprit across the fire escapes just above Filling The Gap. The culprit had jumped but due to a miscalculation, had snapped his neck on the garbage dump and landed on one very startled and perplexed Blaine before springing to life again.

The Pie-Maker had ran after him for a few feet, touching his neck and causing him to drop dead once again.

Puck had seen the entire thing.

So the two entered business together—Blaine would resurrect the victims of murder and they’d have their minute to question them before firmly putting them back under for good. Then Puck would investigate and bring the murderer to justice and they split the reward. 

Puck had enough to keep him comfortably afloat and Blaine was able to insure that Filling The Gap was able to keep up to standards with repairs. Both were able to keep professional and impersonal, Puck willing to keep Blaine’s secret as he benefited from it, and Blaine willing to help bring wrong-doers to justice. 

It was the perfect partnership. 

***

Filing The Gap was a small little pie shop at the south end of West Village, just upon the fringes of SoHo. Blaine was the owner and baker, and he only had two employees: Rachel Berry, waitress extraordinaire who needed extra money to pay her rent as she moved up the ranks of Broadway, and Tina Cohen-Chang, an espresso mistress who could whip up any drink you could think of, who needed some cash on the side while she attended the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts.

Their boss, the Pie-Maker, was a lovely charming young man who, despite his extroverted nature, had a strong tendency to keep to himself. The added allure of mystery all but insured that the two young women nurtured two very strong crushes on him.

But their relationships were symbiotic and the three worked well together, despite one being entirely oblivious to the attentions of the other two.

Everything changed one night, however.

It all started with a murder…


	2. Chapter 2

“Cinna-peach pie a la mode, as usual,” Puck grinned lecherously, closing his menu. “And I wouldn’t mind a side of sweet little Jew to go with it.”

“Shut your pie hole, Puckerman,” Rachel snapped before adopting a saccharinesmile. “Pun intended.” She took his menu and walked away, sliding her order across pie counter. “Puck’s having the usual.”

Blaine gave her a smile and a nod before sliding the pie plate across which she scooped up promptly.

“Hey you guys,” Tina said from behind the espresso counter as she turned to crank up the volume on the small television. “Have you seen this?”

Rachel turned, staring up at the television, her mouth dropping open into a small ‘o’.

Blaine frowned and came out from the back, wiping the flour off his hands on his apron as he too paused to watch the screen.

Frustrated with his lack of pie after a hard day’s work, Puck came up to see what all the commotion was about and he too watched the screen.

Thew news reporter prattled on about some horrible tragedy that had just happened and the four blinked as they waited for the report to inevitably recap itself again.

“…and the tragic killing of this young man, whose body was found in the gutter on 67th and Amsterdam. Paramedics have yet to identify the body…”

“Looks like you and I will be busy again tonight,” Puck grinned, clapping Blaine firmly on the shoulder and Blaine nodded, his eyes still glued to the screen for some odd reason.

***

The Pie-Maker and the Private Investigator did not have any work that night, as it turns out. It wasn’t until the next-of-kin to the victim would come forward that they’d be able to have any access to the body.

Blaine just nodded and took in the information, drinking a drip that Tina had made for him.

“I was able to get a photo of the body, though,” Puck said, pulling out an envelope. “Poor sucker. He got it pretty bad.”

Blaine nodded as he looked at the photo, his insides freezing. “The police need to contact Isabelle Wright. She lives in Oyster Bay on Long Island.”

“Why?” Puck frowned.

“Because someone needs to tell her that her foster son has passed away,” Blaine said tonelessly, standing from the booth. “Excuse me.”

Without a glance backwards to Puck, he went back into the kitchen and shut the door firmly, sinking against it as the photograph of a bruised and battered and dead Kurt Hummel ran through his mind at full speed. 

***

Two days later the odd duo found themselves at the Oyster Bay funeral parlor. The parlor was owned by one Sandy Richardson, who had a penchant for sticky fingers when he saw something in a coffin that he particularly liked. He welcomed the Private Investigator and the Pie-Maker in warmly, telling them to take their time while eyeing the shiny silver pocket watch in the Pie-Maker’s pocket.

Puck was all business, as usual, confident that they could bring down the culprit.

Blaine had other thoughts on his mind. Like the fact that he was about to talk to his best friend that he hadn’t spoken to since he was fourteen when he’d inadvertently killed his father and who was just murdered himself who he now had to bring back to life only to kill again.

Just outside of the small side room where they were destined to see the corpse, Blaine took ahold of Puck’s arm. “Listen Puck…would you mind if I did this one alone?”

Puck looked at him in surprise, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Er yeah,” Blaine said nervously. “Look, there’s something that I have to tell him and it’s personal and I just…have to do it alone.”

Puck nodded. “Okay man. Just remember—get the culprit, okay?”

“Okay,” Blaine nodded before pushing open the door and entering.

There was a calm stillness to the room, one that simultaneously soothed and terrified Blaine. Gulping quietly, he walked over to the lovely cherry wood coffin and grasped the edges of it, pulling it open slowly.

Only Snow White’s or Sleeping Beauty’s Prince could truly know the emotions that were coursing through Blaine as he gazed down at the still body of the person he loved more than anything else in the world. 

Despite the horrific death he’d incurred, Kurt Hummel’s face had been thoroughly washed and cleaned and make-up had been applied to hide most of the damage. He was dressed in a plain black suit that, if he were alive, he would surely fuss at the lack of decoration.

To Blaine, he still looked just as perfectly imperfect as he did that day they met when they were nine. 

Heart fluttering in his chest, Blaine reached into his pocket and clicked his pocket watch. Then he reached a finger out and gently touched the pad of it to Kurt’s lips.

Eyes opened and Kurt sat up abruptly.

Blaine flew back, careful not to touch him again. He only had a minute.

“Kurt?”

Kurt looked around wildly before sliding out of his coffin. “Who are you? Where am I? God, I had the worst nightmare that I was walking in the park and I was attacked—”

“You were,” Blaine said hurriedly. “And I’m…that is, if you remember, uh…a boy who would always bring pies to your tea party?”

Kurt blinked before his eyes lit up with happiness and a grin stretched across his face. “Blaine! What are you doing here—”

Blaine hurriedly backed up. “Kurt, you can’t touch me. You’re dead but I brought you back to life but only for a minute and when I touch you again then you’ll go back to being dead so we only have…” He checked his pocket watch. “Forty-five more seconds.”

“Oh,” Kurt said quietly, glancing at the coffin, comprehension dawning on his face. “ _Oh_.” He looked down at his funeral attire. “What the hell am I wearing? Isabelle should know to dress me better.”

“Listen, Kurt,” Blaine said, fingers aching as he restrained them from reaching out to touch. “Do you know who killed you?”

Kurt shook his head, biting his lip. “No. I was walking through the park, close to the Bow Bridge when they came up behind me. They put a sack over my head then dragged me somewhere and started hitting me for what seemed like hours and then I was strangled and that’s all I remember.”

“Okay,” Blaine nodded, trying to quell the sudden surge of rage in his chest to go and hunt down whoever had harmed Kurt, kill them slowly, then bring them back so he could kill them all over again for a sweet sixty seconds. “Do you know why anyone would want to kill you?”

Kurt shook his head. “I’d just moved into an apartment in the city. To find—” He looked away, suddenly shy. “To find you.”

“Me?” Blaine asked, throat going dry.

Kurt nodded. “I heard you were in the city and…” He blushed suddenly, wringing his fingers. “And I thought I’d come see you because we hadn’t seen each other in so long and we’d told each other that we loved each other and I guess I thought I was being romantic and—” He covered his face. “Oh god, I’m sorry. It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Blaine shook his head. “To be honest…a day hasn’t passed since I left that I haven’t thought about you.”

Kurt peeked out from behind his fingers. “Really?”

“Really,” Blaine smiled. Then the smile melted into sadness as he looked back at his pocket watch.

Kurt’s shoulders slumped. “Is it time for me to go?”

Blaine nodded.

Kurt stepped forward, licking his lips. “You know, when we were kids I lov—you had—I—you…were my first kiss.”

“Mine too,” Blaine said quietly.

Kurt smiled tentatively. “Would you be my last as well? First and last? Or—sorry, that’s too weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s not,” Blaine shook his head. “Its perfect.”

The Pie-Maker leaned in to kiss the love of his life for the last time. But as much as he longed for his lips to be upon Kurt’s once more, there was a much greater longing coursing through him that overwhelmed all of his greater judgement and gave him pause.

Kurt’s eyes fluttered open. “It’s…it’s okay if you don’t want to kiss me.”

“No no,” Blaine shook his head. “It’s not that it’s just…what if you didn’t have to die?”

The pocket watch minute hand went to sixty and Sandy Ryerson fell down dead. 

***

And so the Pie-Maker was able to avoid Puck by claiming that Kurt knew nothing and that he was going to stay to pay his respects. He snuck Kurt out of the coffin before it was taken to the cemetery and the two drove off together. They didn’t speak the entire ride back to Manhattan, more just stealing glances from opposite ends of the car, keeping a healthy distance between the two and both feeling giddy and whole and complete. 

“I used to dream about this,” Kurt said quietly as the city skyline came into view. “You and me, running away to New York together. Never looking back.”

Blaine wanted nothing more in that moment than to lean over and kiss Kurt, but he settled for a beaming smile and flexing his fingers on the steering wheel.

***

The couple returned to Blaine’s apartment over Filling The Gap to have a long-overdue cup of chamomile and a slice of cherry pie.

“I can never touch you?” Kurt asked, mouth hanging open. “But what if I need to?”

“You can’t,” Blaine shook his head. “Or you’ll go back to being dead.”

“That’s not fair,” Kurt said, staring down at his pie. “I finally got you back—”

“I know, I know,” Blaine nodded. “It’s going to be hard, I understand—”

“No, you don’t!”

Blaine stared in shock to see that Kurt had tears in his eyes. “Kurt—”

“You were the first person to ever sit by me,” Kurt said, gripping his mug tightly. “The first person to think I was worth something special. And you’d hold my hand and it didn’t matter that no one would touch me because you always would and…” He blinked back tears. “And now I don’t even have that?”

Blaine scooted his chair as close as he dared, staring earnestly into Kurt’s bright eyes. “I know,” he said quietly. “It is hard for me too. I’m used to just touching everyone because that’s just who I am but you…holding your hand or wrapping you in a hug or falling asleep with you when we had sleepovers…that was the best. You were always my favorite person to touch and now I don’t have that either. And after everything you’ve been through the past few days, I just want to wrap you up in my arms and not let go for a week, but I can’t even do that.”

Kurt lifted up his hand, as if to reach over and touch Blaine, before he placed it back down with a heavy sigh. “So what do we do now?”

Blaine stood, gathering their plates. “Well, first you’re going to take my bed for tonight, and then tomorrow we’re going to find out who wanted you dead.”


	3. Chapter 3

Puck was a shrewd man and an excellent investigator—he just had a way of knowing people.

So his suspicions were immediately tickled when Blaine waltzed into Filling The Gap ten minutes late—he was never late, he lived upstairs for god’s sake—and with a thousand-watt grin on his face.

Considering the last time he’d seen Blaine he’d been paying respects to a dead childhood friend, he knew that something had to be up.

“Something has to be up,” he said, stirring his coffee idly at the counter.

Blaine looked up at him in surprise, a flash of guilt lighting his eyes that was much too quick to hide. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re too goddamn chipper,” Puck said plainly. “I haven’t seen you this happy since that time I got you completely smashed and played the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack.”

“Disco is always a cause of great joy,” Blaine argued, crossing his arms. “And I…I just had a good morning, that’s all.”

This was no lie. Blaine had woken up on his couch, stretching and yawning and forgetting as one does in the early hours of the morning just how he had gotten into said position. But then the scent of banana walnut chocolate chip pancakes had filled the air and with it, brought back memories of childhood which in turn reminded him of the events that had transpired the day before.

And so, stumbling on the blanket tangled around his legs, Blaine had lurched into the kitchen, flying back in panic as he’d nearly run into Kurt, avoiding touching at all costs. After laughing it off but still with a thread of nervousness and delight, the two had sat down and had one of the most wonderful breakfasts of Blaine’s life because Kurt was back and he was home.

“Uh huh,” Puck said, eyebrows permanently arched at this point. 

“Yeah,” Blaine shrugged awkwardly.

Suddenly Rachel was at his elbow, beam gleaming on her face. “Blaine, I stopped by your apartment upstairs on my way in because Puck said you were late—”

“Puck!” Blaine said, eyes widening.

Puck shrugged. “You’re never late. It was weird.”

“—and I met your friend!” Rachel smiled. “He’s the sweetest thing. And really cute. Maybe we could set him up with Tina.”

“No!” Blaine snapped before reigning himself back in. “I mean…she’s…not really his type.”

“Okay,” Rachel said nonchalantly, tying her apron. “And I was wondering…what are you doing this week—”

“Hey Blaine!”

Blaine panicked internally as Kurt slid onto the stool next to Puck, sporting one of Blaine’s berets and a fetching pair of sunglasses.

“There he is!” Rachel grinned. “Doesn’t he look just like that dead guy on the news?”

Puck turned to smile at Blaine. It terrified him. “He looks exactly like that dead guy on the news.”

“Take it as a compliment,” Rachel nodded to Kurt. “He was really cute.”

“Duly noted,” Kurt smiled.

“Uh Rachel, you should go do the rounds,” Blaine said hurriedly, pushing her out from behind the counter.

“I’m Kurt,” Kurt smiled at Puck.

“I’ve noticed,” Puck said dryly. He turned to Blaine. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

“I know. I panicked.”

“We’re going to solve my murder!” Kurt smiled cheerfully.

“God, is chipper-ness contagious? Because between the two of you I’m going to have a serious infection,” Puck groaned. 

“Kurt, you can’t go out in public, you’re supposed to be dead!” Blaine protested.

“I’m wearing a disguise!” he said excitedly. “Plus I’d only been in town for two days, I’ve barely seen any of the city!”

Blaine sighed, ready to protest, but Kurt stared at him with his big blue eyes and his cute freckles, his lips sadly down-turned.

“Please, Blaine?”

Blaine melted. “Okay.”

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

Puck shot him a look. “Blaine, can I speak to you in the refrigerator for a minute?”

Blaine sighed as he followed Puck back into the large walk-in refrigerator, cringing slightly.

“Want to tell my why the hell we have Dead Boy Walking out there?” Puck snapped.

“Sorry,” Blaine winced, shoving his hands into his aprons pockets.

“Who died in his place?”

“Sandy Ryerson,” Blaine said quickly. “The funeral-owner. He’d steal from his dead clients and pawn off jewelry to fuel his online shopping addiction.”

“The guy at the funeral home just happened to drop dead?” Puck raised his eyebrows. 

“Well, it was sort of a proximity thing…” Blaine trailed off guiltily. 

Puck whacked him on the arm. “I was in proximity!”

“I know! I’m sorry, I didn’t even think!”

“You’re an idiot,” Puck said bluntly, running his hand over his mohawk. “And that’s coming from me.”

“I couldn’t let him die, Puck,” Blaine said desperately as he sagged against the cold shelves. “There’s too much history and childhood trauma and amends that need to be made.”

“You don’t think I’ve had my fair share of bad childhood experiences?” Puck snapped. “Dude, I’ve seen things that would keep you up all night, experienced crap that no one’s supposed to go through, freaking horror stories, man.”

“I accidentally killed his father.”

“Okay, maybe not horror stories. But still, what are we supposed to do with him?”

“Solve the murder?” Kurt shrugged. “His foster mother is offering a reward to track down the culprits. And you can even have my half of the cut.”

Puck’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t want any of the reward.”

Blaine looked out the refrigerator door window at Kurt who was happily eating pie at the counter, looking so lovely and healthy and…alive.

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “I already got my reward.”

***

And so the Investigator, the Pie-Maker, and the Undead Boy made their way to Central Park.

Kurt took them to the area where he’d been walking, growing very still and very silent as the memories washed over him.

The facts were these: At 8:07 pm on the night of Kurt Hummel’s death, he’d decided to go walking through Central Park. He’d never seen it before and so he thought a quick stroll would satisfy his curiosity until he could have a more appropriate time of day to fully appreciate and explore the park.

Upon approaching the Bow Bridge, Kurt had heard footsteps behind him, not just one pair but several. Before he’d been able to turn around and see any of his pursuers however, he was struck in the back of the head with a blunt object and had gone crashing to the ground. A burlap sack was placed over his head before his assailants had then proceeded to beat him until he was nearly unconscious, drag him several blocks away, remove all of his clothing save the sack, and then beat him until he died.

They left him alone and naked in the gutter and he’d remained their until a woman walking her dog had happened upon him hours later and called the police.

Standing in the place where he’d been attacked, Kurt’s memories washed over him and he felt terror cripple his heart and he breathed in slowly through his nose and clenched his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach over and grasp Blaine’s. 

“This was it,” he said quietly, kicking his foot.

Puck set out, looking for clues while Blaine moved to stand next to Kurt.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Kurt muttered distractedly. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Well, some pretty horrific things happened to you here a couple of days ago.”

“I’m fine Blaine,” Kurt said, gripping his elbow tightly.

Blaine nodded, at a loss. When they were little and Kurt was upset, he’d just wrap him up tight until the pain went away. But now…

“Found something!”

They both snapped back to attention as Puck walked back over to them, a half-torn card in his hand.

“…something Adams?” Blaine muttered as he read. “And the address is in—”

“The meat-packing district,” Puck finished. “Which means we’re dealing with Azimio.” He turned to Kurt. “Does that name ring a bell?”

Kurt frowned lightly, shaking his head.

“He’s a local drug lord,” Blaine explained as they walked back to the subway. “And he’s often found of taking out hits on people who owe him money, but why on earth would he target you?”

“Were you doing anything illegal or secretive?” Puck cut across.

“No,” Kurt said, bewildered. “I’d just applied to Parsons and took out a lease on an apartment in Bushwick.” 

Blaine and Puck glanced at each other, perplexed at the situation they found themselves in.

The train ride back to Filling The Gap was brief, in which Blaine swiftly deposited Kurt in his apartment.

“But why can’t I come?” Kurt protested.

“Because someone at Azimio might recognize you,” Blaine said gently, twisting his hands behind his back. “Puck and I are just going to be there really fast, get-in get-out job.”

“But you could get hurt,” Kurt said anxiously. “What if you need me?”

Blaine knelt down in front of him, wanting to take his hand, but refraining. “I need you here alive more. I don’t want your second chance at being alive to only last less than twenty-four hours.”

Kurt sighed but gave a soft nod.

***

After Puck and Blaine left, Kurt sat on Blaine’s bed and pondered the events in his life that had led up to him being in his exact spot.

The facts were these: After the tragic death of his father, Kurt was put into the Lima foster care system and cycled through various houses. Originally, his case worker said that she’d see if he could live at the home of a close friend, but Blaine had moved to boarding school so Kurt couldn’t ask Mr. Anderson.

He never lasted more than a month at a house and was what most of the citizens of Lima referred to as a “lost cause”. 

His first year of high school went abysmally, the only solace he gained was from writing his two letters every week—one to Isabelle Wright, an rising NYC designer who’s styles he found edgy and so he sent a weekly critique, though knowing that chances of hearing back were slim to none, and one to Blaine.

One day, he actually got a letter in return.

Isabelle wrote to him to tell him that she thought his insights were greatly appreciated and she wondered if he’d like to work for her? He replied that, being a boy of nearly-sixteen, he’d need parental consent and, being a boy with no parents, that would be difficult to acquire. 

Their correspondence continued and Isabelle, growing found of the young boy, proposed an adoption of convenience—she would be able to groom Kurt as her protege and Kurt would be able to pursue one of his greatest passions out of the hold of Lima. 

The adoption completed, Kurt moved in to Isabelle’s large house in Oyster Bay on Long Island. For all intents and purposes, she had come to care for the boy and wished to provide him with the best education possible. 

After writing to Blaine through his whole high school career and never getting a reply back, he put him out of sight and out of mind. 

(Little did he know that there were two forces working to ensure that Blaine never received said letters.)

After his four years at Brown University, Kurt had been idly skimming through a Vogue article on popular new Manhattan restaurants in anticipation of moving to the city which he’d only been to on an annual basis, very briefly, for galas that Isabelle would takehim to, when he stumbled upon a review for Filling The Gap and read the interview with the owner. 

The reporter was gushing about the pomegranate key lime pie slice that the owner apparently had stated, “This pie in particular is special to me. It’s a recipe I created on my own when I was six, and it was also the first slice of pie that I ever gave to the love of my life.” 

Half an hour after that, Kurt had called Isabelle and secured himself an internship at Vogue for the coming autumn.

Sadly, he’d been murdered before his first day of work.

Kurt was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he failed to notice the door opening slowly behind him, a silhouette blocking out the doorway and a shadow casting on the lit floor. 

***

“Never seen him.”

Puck slammed the photograph of Kurt down hard on the desk. “Really, Azimio? Because we have it on good authority that some of your guys took him out a couple of nights ago.”

Azimio just folded his hands tighter. “I’ve. Never. Seen. Him.”

“Interesting since his face has been all over the news,” Blaine crossed his arms defiantly.

Azimio gave them both a look. “Strando, would you kindly escort these two gentlemen out?”

Blaine sighed as they were forced onto the murky street. “Well that was a waste.”

“Not even remotely closer to figuring this thing out,” Puck sighed.

“You’re asking the wrong people,” a rich voice said dramatically from the alleyway. 

Blaine and Puck looked at each other before heading over to find a voluptuous woman longing against the wall. 

“Who are you?” Puck demanded.

“Unique Adams,” she smiled coyly. “Azimio’s younger sister.”

“Do you have information for us?” Blaine asked eagerly.

“A hit team was sent out for you boy,” Unique nodded.

“But why?” Puck frowned. “Did he ruffle feathers?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Unique said, checking briefly down the alleyway before pulling out a business card. “It was an hired job. I don’t know who, but they paid a hefty sum and they’re from this company.” She handed them the business card before pulling her jacket up close around her face before heading down the alley. “That’s all I can tell you.” 

Blaine and Puck looked at the card.

SS Conglomerate

“Do you know it?” Puck frowned.

“No,” Blaine shook his head. “But isn’t that some sort of ship?”

“I think so,” Puck nodded. “We need to get back to the shop.”

“Agreed.”

***

Upon returning to the shop, they found Kurt sitting at the counter with one Tina Cohen-Chang, the intruder to Blaine’s apartment from earlier. She had come to ask Blaine about getting a shift covered when she’d seen the door open and feared an intruder, happening upon Kurt instead. 

The two had hit it off well and were currently discussing the popularity of sweater trains that always came around every autumn. They ate their pie in comfortable silence, intercut with amiable conversation and the sound of the vacuum cleaner going in the corner where the janitor was cleaning. 

“Hey!” Kurt said, his face lighting up as he caught sight of Blaine. “Any luck?”

“Apparently a ship,” Puck sighed as he dragged up a chair. “Tina, go away.”

“The gratitude,” she grumbled, shuffling off to finish the dishes.

“Do you know a ship called the Conglomerate?” Blaine asked as he showed Kurt the card.

“No…” Kurt frowned before reading it. Then his expression went cold. “You guys got it wrong. It’s not a ship, it’s a corporation. Well, it’s a head of a corporation.” 

What do you mean?” Blaine asked, leaning forward curiously.

Kurt flipped the card to show them. “SS Conglomerate. Short for, Sebastian Smythe Conglomerate. The asshole named it after himself.”

“Smythe?” Puck asked. “Like, the Smythe family?”

Kurt nodded, flicking the card down. “Yeah. Sebastian’s the heir and currently head of the NYC offices.”

“But why would a giant blue blooded NYC tycoon do all of this to you?” Blaine said, picking his words wisely around Tina, who was looking at them curiously.

Kurt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I mean, we did date.”

Blaine wheeled around. “What?”

The facts were these: Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe had attended private school together in Oyster Bay. Kurt had felt a strong sense of disdain for Sebastian after a failed dating experience during their sophomore year, and Sebastian had only felt contempt for him since. After his four years at Brown University, Kurt had been approached by Sebastian upon him hearing that he’d be moving to Manhattan as an attempt to rekindle their relationship. Kurt had stoutly declined. 

Four days later, Kurt Hummel ended up dead in a gutter.

“You dated a Smythe?” Puck asked incredulously. 

“We were barely sixteen,” Kurt groaned. “It was hardly dating! We broke  up after a week.”

“You  _dated_?” Blaine stared, agog. 

Kurt blinked at him, raising an eye brow. “Yes? It’s sort of a normal thing for people to do, Blaine.”

Indeed, Blaine had always seen Kurt as his childhood sweetheart in his mind’s eye, barely fourteen and certainly not of regular dating age, so it was a bit hard for his mind to process adult twenty-one Kurt who stood before him and who had, throughout the seven years they’d been apart, dated at one point or another.

“I still don’t see why Smythe would want you dead,” Puck frowned. “Not a whole lot of motive. Did he say anything weird or do anything?”

“No,” Kurt shook his head. “He just asked me how Isabelle’s company was…” He trailed off, face growing sallow. “Oh.”

“What?” Blaine leaned forward.

Kurt swallowed heavily. “Isabelle had named me her official successor for her fashion line. I was going to take over in ten years and the Smythe company had wanted royalties for it. Sebastian knew I’d never give them over and…” He stared down at his chest suddenly, gripping his shirt tightly. “Oh god, my clothes!”

“Your clothes?” Puck asked, bewildered. 

“My clothes!” Kurt gasped, suddenly hyperventilating as he clutched at his shirt tighter. “Oh god he took—he took—” He suddenly pushed away from the table with a sob and raced to the back, disappearing up the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” Puck muttered, but Blaine was already racing after Kurt. 

He entered his apartment and heard sniffling from the living room. Walking in, he found Kurt curled up on the floor, crying quietly.

“Kurt?” he asked softly, crouching about a foot away and careful not to touch him. “Kurt, what’s wrong? Please tell me.”

Kurt’s head poked up from his arms and he blinked the tears out of his wet sea-glassy eyes. “Isabelle…she was coming out with a new line next month, all in black. I always joked that it was like a funeral. The public had been itching for a sneak peek and investors wanted to see the wares, but she kept everything under wraps. I’d mentioned part of it to Sebastian only in passing but…” He sniffed, wiping his nose. “There was this one outfit I adored…my favorite piece because I’d helped design it and Isabelle knew how much I loved it and I’m pretty sure she dressed me in it before I was put in the coffin.”

“Okay,” Blaine nodded, not entirely seeing where this was going. “And so you’re sad because…?”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, his voice cracking slightly. “Did you find me in an expensive black fashion outfit in my coffin?”

“No,” Blaine frowned. “You were—”

“In a regular tuxedo,” Kurt cut him off. “Not even a fitted one either. It’s something that Isabelle would never, in a million years, put me in, especially if I was being buried.” He clutched himself tighter, rocking back and forth. “Sebastian must have come and taken my clothes off me. I was already found dead and naked in the gutter, my clothes no where to be found, and I’d been wearing some of Isabelle’s latest designs that night too. He just came and took my clothes and left me with nothing of my own and—”

Kurt cut himself off as the sobs took over again and he clutched his hair tightly between his fingers as he shook.

Blaine sat next to him, at a loss for what to do because he couldn’t touch Kurt and going on a murdering spree of everyone who’d ever harmed him seemed impractical at this point as well because he didn’t want to leave Kurt alone either. He looked around wildly, fingers clenching until he spotted the duvet on the couch from where he’d camped out the night before and grabbed it. He threw the thick blanket around Kurt and hugged him tightly, not letting him go until the sobs had subsided. 

Even with the blanket barrier, it felt good to have Kurt in his arms again. It felt right.

It felt home. 


	4. Chapter 4

When Kurt and Blaine got back downstairs, Puck, Rachel and Tina were all clustered around one of the tables, eating pie from the tin while the soft buzz of the janitor vacuuming filled the room with white noise.

“You two okay?” Puck asked, tilting his head back to look at the pair.

“We’re fine,” Blaine said evenly as they slid around the table as well, picking up forks. 

“So we need to break into SS Conglomerate,” Kurt said around a mouthful of pear-brie pie.

“Wait what?” Tina blinked, caught off guard. “What’s going on?”

Blaine and Puck exchanged a glance before Puck took over. “Kurt’s got himself an ex there who won’t give him back some of his stuff, so we’re going to break in and steal it.” 

“Ooh, exes from hell!” Rachel said excitedly as she ate her own slice of vegan blueberry pie. “Count me in!” 

“Me too,” Tina nodded. “Though it’ll be impossible to break into a Smythe building, those things have cameras everywhere.”

“Actually, there is a way,” a quiet voice came from behind them. The five turned to see the janitor staring at them nervously, clicking his vacuum off. 

“How do you know?” Blaine frowned.

“I clean there,” he said awkwardly, walking over to their table. “And there aren’t cameras at the service entrances. I could get you in that way, if you like.”

“That’d be perfect, thank you!” Kurt said excitedly.

“Just one question,” Puck frowned. “Why would you want to help us?”

The janitor looked taken aback. “I…because I was cheated out of a paycheck there a couple times. Rich people can sure be stingy with their money.”

“Well we appreciate the help, Mark!” Rachel beamed.

“His name is Mike,” Tina corrected her. She turned to the janitor with a smile. “Thank you, Mike.”

He swallowed nervously and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Mike was lying about his intentions towards helping them. 

The facts were these: Mike Chang was a twenty-two year old student at the Julliard School of Dance, taking night jobs as a janitor to pay for his cramped apartment in East Village. He often practiced his routines while sweeping or mopping the floors, feet always nimble and in practice. SS Conglomerate had not cheated him out of a paycheck—in fact, they paid him the best of all his gigs. The person that payed him the lowest was, in fact, Blaine Anderson, due to Filling The Gap being a very small business. 

But every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night, like clockwork, Mike Chang showed up to clean the small pie shop, because even though he could make more money those nights working at SS Conglomerate, there was one thing that Filling The Gap could offer that no other business, no matter how grand, in all of Manhattan could offer:

And that was one Miss Tina Cohen-Chang. 

Mike had longed for the sweet waitress for months from afar, not wanting to push boundaries as he satisfied his aching heart by just being within proximity. 

So despite the good pay of SS Conglomerate, and despite the fact that he could potentially lose his job there, he spoke up to help Tina and her friends because love can often make you do very foolish things.

And the smile she gave him was entirely worth the whole endeavor. 

***

It was a dark and stormy night at SS Conglomerate. 

Tina stayed on the ground level with Mike to keep watch.

Rachel was at the elevators on the top floor, to ring the alarm if someone came up. 

Puck picked the lock on Sebastian’s office door and Kurt and Blaine hurried into the dark room.

“It has to be in here somewhere,” Kurt muttered, eyes going wide as a door to the left of the window opened. Blaine wheeled around as Kurt dove under the desk. 

Out walked Sebastian Smythe from what looked like a supply closet, buttoning up his shirt as a young blonde office worker stumbled out after him. 

“Look,” Sebastian sighed. “Next time, use less teeth—“He broke off as he saw Blaine standing by his desk. “Who the hell are you?”

“I—” Blaine blinked, at a loss.

“Chandler, go alert security,” Sebastian snapped as Chandler scurried out the door. There was a brief sound of a scuffle as Puck presumably apprehended him.

“What—” Sebastian looked alarmed, but Blaine had already grabbed his weapon out from his jacket and held it threateningly at Sebastian. 

“Alright,” Blaine said evenly. “Now we’re not leaving here until you tell me where you put Kurt Hummel’s clothes.” 

Sebastian stared. “Is that a rolling pin?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you even hiding that?”

“Look, I don’t have time for games, Smythe,” Blaine glared. “You hurt someone very dear to me. Now tell me where you put his clothes!”

Sebastian stared at him incredulously before a look of comprehension dawned on his face. A sinister smile quickly followed. “Wait…rolling pin and Kurt…are you Blaine?”

“How do you know my name?” Blaine demanded.

“Oh Kurty was hung up on you,” Sebastian grinned. “Writing to you every week, his heart breaking more and more when you wouldn’t write back.”

Blaine blinked. “But…I never got any letters.”

“Oh course you didn’t,” Sebastian shrugged. “I took them and tore them up.Though not before reading it to classmates, god did we have a hoot. Originally it was because I wanted into Hummel’s pants, but after he dumped me, it was more out of spite than anything. And eventually his little heart broke and he stopped writing.” 

“So you sabotaged his relationship with me,” Blaine said quietly, voice barely containing his rage. “You hired thugs to have him killed. You stripped him of his clothes  _twice_ —”

“And you’re planning to buy out Isabelle’s line?” Kurt snapped, popping up from behind the desk, a document he’d pulled out of it clutched in his hand. “You were going to leak my clothes to her competitors which would force her to go on the market, and then you were going to buy up her shares!” He marched over to Sebastian, jabbing him firmly in the chest. “And you knew that the only way to do that would be over my dead body, but guess what? You’re still not going to get away with it even then.”

Sebastian stared at Kurt, his eyes wide in horror. He made and odd choking noise before falling to the floor.

“Oh my god, what a lightweight,” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Can we just throw a pail of water on him?”

“Kurt…” Blaine said slowly. “I…I think he’s dead.”

“What?” Kurt knelt down quickly, feeling for a pulse. His eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god, I killed someone!” 

The facts were these: Kurt had actually, not in fact killed Sebastian, it was more of a collaborative effort. The young intern, Chandler Kiehl, had wanted to get back at his boss for using his position as president against him, so he’d given him a poison that only activated at a certain point of heart acceleration. He’d been attempting to achieve said acceleration through climax, unaware that they both would be interrupted by noises in Sebastian’s office later on.

But the sight of Kurt, the young man who’s death Sebastian had been sure of ensuring, was enough to cause his heart to accelerate to the appropriate amount of beats-per-minute, allowing the poison to rapidly spread and Sebastian to drop dead to the floor.

“First time for everything,” Blaine said, head buzzing from the turnabouts of the day. “Okay, we only have a minute to get the location of your clothes out of him.”

“Alright,” Kurt nodded, clutching his knees. “Let’s do this.”

Blaine clicked his pocket watch and touched Sebastian.

Sebastian sat up. “What the hell?”

“No, you’re going there later,” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Now tell me where my clothes are.”

“I’ll take the secret to my grave,” Sebastian snapped.

“Too late,” Kurt said dryly. “You’re there.”

“Oh,” Sebastian frowned, looking down at himself. “At least I was able to have one last cup of courvoisier and coffee. Though it had tasted a little funny…”

“Enough stalling, we only have—”

“Thirty-seven.”

“—thirty-seven seconds left,” Kurt said sternly.

“And this is why I always hated you,” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Always a straight-laced stick in the mud, running your mouth about rules and morals and half the time I just wanted to shove my cock down your throat to shut you up.”

Blaine’s grip tightened on the rolling pin.

Kurt did his best not to waver. “Tell me where my clothes are.”

“Not happening,” Sebastian crossed his arms.

“Fine,” Kurt said cooly. “I found your will in the drawer though. It would be a shame if something were to happen to it because then Weston Corporation would absorb SS Conglomerate, correct? I wonder how Brody would like being president of both companies. I remember how well you two got along during school.”

Sebastian’s face dropped, expression souring. “My Tribeca apartment. Keys are in the drawer.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, saccharine sweet as he stood, slamming his foot straight down into Sebastian’s stomach.

“Fuck!” Sebastian yelled. “What the hell?”

“A lot worst happened to me a few nights ago,” Kurt said quietly. “You’re lucky I don’t have time for more.”

“And time’s up,” Blaine said, staring down at his pocket watch. 

“Oh really? Sebastian drawled. “What now?”

Blaine glared up at him, holding his gaze for a second before pulling his fist back and punching him clear across the face, knocking him back into death.

***

The investigation closed. Puck got an enormous sum of money from Isabelle which he begrudgingly shared with Rachel and Tina, at their insistencesince they had helped. Tina happily gave half of her reward to Mike, with a sweet kiss on the cheek and heartfelt thank you.

It was, to date, the happiest day of Mike’s life.  **  
**

Blaine tried to refuse his cut, but Kurt had insisted upon him taking it, claiming that they could use it to do a little renovating in Blaine’s apartment to accommodatetheir unique living situation.

It wasn’t perfect. The non-touching was a bit hard to deal with, and Blaine would often find Kurt sitting at the window, looking longingly towards the fashion district, a melancholy expression on his face as he couldn’t exactly tell Isabelle of his predicament.

At times like those, Blaine would bring Kurt a mug of tea and hug him from behind, a warm blanket separating them both.

***

One place that the two young lovebirds were always in sync, however, was in the kitchen of Filling The Gap, working seamlessly as they made pies together, the non-touching barrier not even an issue as it never crossed their minds down there—they just moved in perfect synchronicity. 

But some thoughts had been plaguing Kurt’s mind and Blaine was finally able to coax them out of him.

“Maybe I’m just confused,” Kurt mumbled quietly as he stirred the dark chocolate.

“About what?” Blaine frowned, separating the coconut with his fingers.

“About why you brought me back,” Kurt said, glancing up at Blaine nervously. “And then let me keep living, even though you knew you could never touch me again.”

Blaine gently set the coconut down and pushed a stray curl behind his ear, accidentally getting a few white shreds in his hair. “That didn’t matter to me. It’s like…it’s like this shop. Filling The Gap. Ever since I was sent off to Dalton, it’s like there was a giant Kurt-sized gap in my heart, and seeing you again, bringing you back to life…” He smiled warmly. “Well, let’s just say the gap is happily sealed off again. You’ve always been the filling in my pie, Kurt. The best part.”

Kurt stared at him, his eyes full of tears before he cleared his throat, smiling softly. “No Blaine, I think you were the best part. The warm crust that always held me together and kept me close.”

“Well,” Blaine said as he turned back to his coconut. “I think we’ll just have to agree to disagree—” 

He turned around and suddenly Kurt was against him, holding a large sheet of saran wrap over his face and pressing their lips together against it. Blaine’s eyes widened in shock before they fluttered shut happily, hands carefully going to Kurt’s clothed waist as they shared several sweet messy plasticky saran wrap kisses. 

It is customarily at this point that the story wraps up to an end point like a sweet pie being prepared for delivery, but it is not so for the tale of the Pie-Maker and the Undead Boy. Because their story, much like the journey of the pie, is just beginning. 

~*~*~


End file.
